Something Familiar
by TheFriendlyStranger
Summary: (Post Fable II. Reaver, OC. No romance.) After Returning from Samarkand, Reaver visits his manor in Bloodstone with the intention of staying. Aside finding it disappointingly uninhabited, Barnum's device still sits in the room where he had left it. With it are a set of photos, one of which containing the image of a familiar woman and a child with an uncanny resemblance to himself..
1. Part 1

**Oh, hello there. It seems I have gotten lost and found myself in the Fable fandom. I can only hope I find my way out again...**

**Anyway, joking aside, I have had this little plot kicking around in my head ever since I finished off Fable II for the first time...a handful of months ago. It's been a while. I recently got my friend into the game, and in doing so, it kicked this plot out from the back of my mind. So, after some late night daydreaming, I finally found a way to write this. **

**This takes place after Fable II, in the events of Queen Sparrow's reign, which will be mentioned somewhat, but isn't the main plot. I've tried to piece everything together nicely so it makes some sense, so hopefully it won't be too confusing. This chapter kind of covers the childhood of my OC, so there isn't much mention of Canon characters until the ending bit, but it is just set up. **

**Anyway, this author's note has gone on long enough and I am going to let you read now. Any feedback or reviews are completely welcome. **

* * *

**Something Familiar **

**Part 1**

* * *

_Every action she took had consequences, though she was so caught up in herself that she never really acted on them or gave them much thought. That is, until she found herself having to carry around a consequence that threatened to change her life forever. _

_It was odd how she carried around something for so long, yet never gave any thought to the fact that it would have to come out eventually. She had felt the child's kicks every now and then, though they had been rather still for the duration of the pregnancy. Maybe that is why it made her forget that she did have something growing inside her, yet at the same time she was forced to remember. _

_Children, marriage, a small home in a farming town...she had thought that it would never be written in the book of fate for her, yet here she was. Aside from marriage, everything happened. A drunken mistake and nine months of hating herself ended with her in a small, wooden, one story home in Oakfield, a woman holding onto her bare legs and telling her to _breathe_. _

"_How much longer?" Elizabeth asked, her breathing heavy, sweat covering her forehead as she lay on the bed, hunched back on her hands, legs open as the woman have her a soft smile. _

"_You are almost there, dear," she said with nod, wiping some of her blonde hair away from her face, "just a few more pushes." _

"_I can't keep..." Elizabeth started, letting out another breath, feeling like her arms were going to give out at any given moment. _

"_Yes, you can," the woman before her said, looking at her harshly, "you have to keep pushing the little one out, they can't do it on their own." _

"_I never wanted a child," Elizabeth muttered, mostly to herself, "much less so the child of that bloody bast-" she was cut off by herself, letting out an agonized yell as another contraction swept over her. She bunched herself up a little more, gritting her teeth as she pushed, her midwife still guiding her along, checking on her progress, offering supportive, yet sometimes harsh, words to keep her moving, and wiping the sweat off her face. _

_It was about an hour later before Elizabeth, with a cry that was reminiscent to a war cry, gave birth to a small, pink, squirming child. She lay herself down against the bed, listening to the short cry of the child as it took its first breath, her midwife cooing softly down at the newborn. Elizabeth turned her head away, even if curiosity was wanting her to look at the child. _

"_Ah, here..._she_ is," the widwife said, wrapping the child in a blanket as she looked towards the tired mother, "would you like to-" _

"_No," Elizabeth said quickly, shutting her eyes as she let out a deep sigh, her eyes remaining firmly shut. _

_The widwife looked sadly at her, holding the squirming, yet quiet, child in her arms. _

"_Very well." _

* * *

_Elizabeth woke up an hour or so later, her body still weak, but she felt more awake. Slowly, she turned her head towards the small wooden crib that rested beside her bed. The baby, her _daughter_, was resting peacefully at her side. Carefully, both trying not to make much noise and to make sure she could make such a movement, Elizabeth sat up and swung her legs over the side of the bed. _

_She peered into the crib, the small babe sleeping contentedly, wrapped up in a brown blanket. Slowly, Elizabeth reached her hand out and touched the baby's chest, feeling it rise and fall under her finger tips. _

_She...had a baby. A daughter. _

_As if the baby noticed the small smile crossing Elizabeth's face, she opened her eyes slightly, peering up at her through tired eyelids as if to ask her why she was waking her up. A soft chuckle escaped from Elizabeth, her smile growing even more. Only a mere few hours old, and the child was starting to show some of her personality. _

_Or, at least, what Elizabeth was perceiving as a personality. _

_Removing her hand from the crib, Elizabeth sat on the edge of the bed, looking down at her daughter with a steadily growing sense of love building up inside her, threatening to overpower any other negative emotions she had towards the child. There was some anxiety there, too, but she was too proud and happy to let that in at the moment. _

_Picking up on the footfalls of her midwife, the woman entering the house quietly and smiling at the sight of her sitting near the crib. _

"_How is she?" _

"_Resting," Elizabeth said softly, glancing back down towards her, "as peacefully as a baby should." _

"_Have you thought of any names?" _

_Elizabeth paused, realizing that she hadn't gone through the conversation most expecting parents had about baby names, a small part of her wondering what _he_ would have wanted to name her. She quickly shook that thought away, knowing all too well that the baby's father wanted nothing to do with the both of them. _

_She was Elizabeth's daughter, and _she_ had to name her. _

"_Esther," she said softly after a few moments before nodding her head, "yes, she will be called Esther. After the woman who took care of my brother and I, a pure, happy, and kind person." _

"_That is wonderful, Elizabeth," her midwife said, smiling down at the child, Elizabeth doing the same. She looked at Esther, _really_ looked, and her happy and content smile fell slightly. _

"_She looks so much like her father..." she started, her loving eyes darkening with sadness, a frown crossing her mouth once again, "the poor child." _

* * *

_The early years of Esther's life passed by quickly, the quiet infant growing into a small baby that just didn't seem content with the world she was in, crying so much that Elizabeth worried that she would wake the whole town some nights. After a while, Esther stopped her crying and started to explore some more, learning to walk. _

_She became an energetic toddler, running around the house with an energy that completely took Elizabeth off guard. Aside from the uncanny ability of knocking over anything she touched, Esther also had tendencies to run up to complete strangers if they wore colourful clothing. _

_One instance of this was when Elizabeth decided to take Esther down towards the docks, she had often seen a dog run down towards there, always commenting on it when she would see it run down towards the shore. As expected, when Esther saw the dog down at the docks, she took off from her mother's side at a rather fast speed. _

"_Esther!" Elizabeth called out, quickly reaching out to catch her daughter, but the little girl was quick and continued to run, nearly tripping over her own feet. Elizabeth managed to keep up with her for the most part, Esther stopping suddenly, her eyes on something, or _someone_, walking down towards the docks as well. The woman was wearing a red cloak, Esther just standing a few feet from her and gawking up at her like she was witnessing something amazing. _

_Elizabeth paused, watching as the woman paused just in front of Esther, the little girl giving her a smile as her small hand reached out and grabbed at the ends of her cloak. _

"_Esther!" Elizabeth snapped, quickly walking towards her, grabbing her and picking her up. "How many times must I tell you, people might not like it when you run up to them and grab them." _

"_Your child," the woman started, Elizabeth looking up to see her looking at the both of them with completely white eyes, a small smile on her face, "she is a born adventurer, take care that you do not quell such spirit." _

_Elizabeth's mouth opened slightly to reply, though she was still grasping at what the woman had just said, but the cloaked woman simply turned and walked down towards the docks, where the dog was looking out at the ocean with an odd fixation. _

"_Come along, love," Elizabeth said softly to Esther, who was still looking at the woman, "I believe we better leave the docks for another day." _

* * *

_Esther was about five when she started to make friends with the other children of the town, spending most of her days outside with them, returning home just before dark for dinner, where she would excitedly tell her mother about the game of 'Hero' she played that day. _

_Well...on most nights, actually. _

"_They never let me be the Hero I want to be," Esther said one night, looking down at her food with a mix of both sadness and annoyance. _

"_Oh?" Elizabeth asked, raising an eyebrow, "is that so?" _

_Esther pulled a face, "they always make me be the Hero of Skill." _

"_Why is that?" Elizabeth asked, her shoulders tensing slightly as Esther poked at her meal with a fork. _

"_Because I'm tall," she said softly, "I'm too thin to be the Hero of Strength and Henry always insists on using magic." _

_Elizabeth new that the children were right, Esther was a little taller than the other girls her age, not by much, but apparently it was enough for them to notice. _

"_Well," Elizabeth started, giving her a small smile, "what kind of Hero do you want to be?" _

_Esther's blue eyes lit up, that energy she always seemed to possess popping up once again, a smile crossing her face._

"_All three!" she exclaimed, "I want to be able to use magic, be strong, and shoot any target I aim at! I want to be like Sparrow!" _

_Elizabeth smiled at her, though she looked a little sad. Esther wondered why, her smile fading slightly at her mother's expression. Slowly, Elizabeth leaned forward, lowering her voice. _

"_Do you want to know a secret, Esther?" she asked, the young girl nodding her head, "while all those things sound like they would make you a great hero, you _don't_ have to wield Will, Strength, or Skill to be somebody's hero." _

"_You don't?" Esther asked, tilting her head. _

_Elizabeth shook her head, "not all of us are born with such abilities, but that doesn't mean you can't save somebody, someday." _

_The child nodded her head, "Does that mean that...I can be somebody's hero someday?" _

_Elizabeth chuckled softly, placing her hand behind Esther's head, giving her a kiss on the forehead. _

"_You already are." _

* * *

"_Mother!" Esther tugged at Elizabeth's hand, the older woman glancing towards her ten-year-old daughter with a questioning gaze. She was pulled forward by Esther's insistent tugs, Elizabeth catching herself before she tripped over her own feet. _

"_Avo, Esther!" she exclaimed, "you'll pull my arm right off, the rate you are going. What has got you so excited?" _

"_There is a man here!" she said, a wide smile on her face, "he has this...box with him! He said that it takes instant paintings with only the press of a button! Can we get one done? Please?" _

"_I don't know, it sounds awfully far-fetched," Elizabeth said, Esther shaking her head quickly. _

"_It is true! I have seen it in action! Please? We don't have any paintings of us, and I want something to remember you by when you are dead." _

"_Dear sweet Avo, Esther," Elizabeth said with a laugh, "I don't know where you got such a grim thought from, but if you want to get this...painting done so badly, then we shall. Please, stop pulling on my arm, you are going to hurt me." _

"_I apologize," Esther said quickly, giving an apologetic look, though the smile on her face seemed to lessen the effect, "come on!" _

"_I wonder when you will start to calm down," Elizabeth muttered, following her daughter down towards the inn, "I can only keep up with so much..." _

_Esther gave her a small smile, slowing down in her mark. "It will, I am just excited." _

"_That you are," Elizabeth said with another chuckle, arriving at the centre of town, where Esther lead her towards the town's main attraction for the month. It wasn't long before Elizabeth and Esther found themselves standing before the box, the man behind it directing them to make a pose. _

_Esther turned slightly so that she was looking at the camera over her shoulder slightly, lifting her head, giving a somewhat smug smile to the camera, standing in her practiced 'Hero Pose'. Elizabeth fought the urge to roll her eyes, setting to just chuckle and turned so that they were back to back, her arms crossed and soft smile on her face. _

"_Ah, a family of Heroes," the man behind the box said in a somewhat playful tone, smiling himself as he held up another device, "alright, hold that pose and..." Poof! Esther grinned, moving back into her normal stance as her mother walked towards the box to get a closer look. _

"_Now, it will take three months for this photograph to..._developorise,_" the man explained as Esther walked up behind her mother, who was looking at him with interest, "then, I will deliver your photo as soon as it has finished." _

"_That sounds wonderful," Elizabeth said, now genuinely interested in this photograph, "thank you, uh..." _

"_Barnum," the man said with a nod, Elizabeth nodding in return, walking to catch up with her daughter once again, who was waiting for her. _

_Sadly, three months passed, and neither of them saw that photo, Barnum being shot before they could. Esther didn't think much of the photo, anyway. _

_Still, fate was starting to pull her strings. _

* * *

After the many days and nights in Samarkand, one would have expected him to have tanned somewhat, but his skin was as pale as ever, one might even say he appeared a slightly more pale than before. Still, after the many days he spent in that mundane and _hot_ country, Reaver hadn't changed one bit.

In both appearance and personality, it seemed, seeing as he strode through the dark and dirty streets of Bloodstone with the same swagger and arrogance that he always possessed. Despite how low the people viewed Bloodstone, he found it rather exhilarating to be back in the town that he had ran for so long. Back in between the run down buildings, seeing the scantly clad prostitutes, the smell of the ocean...

And, of course, his manor. As short as his stay was in Samarkand, he found himself happy to be back _home_. Of course, there was the hope that someone had actually bought his manor, so he could put a bullet in between their eyes.

It was a fitting 'Welcome Back' gesture, he felt.

Yet, when he opened the front doors to his manor, he found the place dark, also somewhat dusty, but nothing seemed out of place. The people had been smart in not living in his manor while he was gone.

"How disappointing," he muttered, opening the doors to the main room of the manor, seeing that the opening to his secret passage was still open as well.

Ah, well, he will have to switch targets, then.

Quickly turning on his heel, his eyes landing on the few crew members from the ship he had arrived on, who stood in the parlour, looking around with somewhat lost expressions on their faces.

"Now, I hope that none of you are wanting to test my patience," Reaver said, grin still in place as he waved his Dragonstomper .48 around, "do get to work. I wish for this place to be spotless by this evening, and I am rather inclined to punish those who slack..."

The men before him scattered at the mention, heading off for different parts of his manor, Reaver letting out a chuckle at the reaction. It felt good to be back in charge, not that he relinquished such a thing around Garth, but he found the Will user's annoyed, and sometimes hateful, glares at every comment and action he took were starting to gate on his nerves.

_Well, we won't have to worry about him any longer, _Reaver told himself with a somewhat eerie smile on his face as he thought about his last day in Samarkand.

"Reaver, sir?" a voice asked behind him, making the deviant turn around to look at him. "I was wondering what you wished for me to do about the...device in here. I am not too sure what it is..."

"Ah, yes," Reaver said, striding into the room and towards the...picture box that stood on three thin legs, too covered in the thin layer of dust. "This contraption...do see if you can find someone who knows how to work it. I believe it has been well past three months, I would like to see my picture."

"Well," the man said, quickly bending down near the device to pick something off the floor, "there are...these as well."

He extended what appeared to be a few small paintings towards him, Reaver taking them from him to look at. It appeared that they came from the device, or, more likely, the man that operated the box when he had been pulled from the room after being shot. Reaver flipped through some of the photos with mild interest, they were mostly of people smiling or posing. Aside from the quality, there wasn't anything too special about them.

As he flipped to the last picture, something about it gave him pause. He narrowed his eyes slightly, tossing the rest of the photos on the floor once again for one of his men to pick up as he walked into a more well lit room, the details of the photo revealing themselves to him.

The first person he noticed was the older woman, who seemed somewhat familiar to him as well. Though, he felt it was safe to assume that he had seen the woman in passing or she had warmed his bed one night. She was thin, a little to old to appeal to him, her smile soft and arms crossed.

Then, there was the child.

The young girl stood, reaching just below the older woman's shoulder, her body turned away from the camera, her eyes smug, hands on her thin hips, her hair slightly curly and was tied up in a bun on top of her head. Now, aside from the vague familiarity she shared with the woman to her left, making him assume that they were related somehow- her mother, perhaps? There was also something else familiar about the girl. The way she looked at the camera, her pose even, it was all familiar.

Having spent so much time admiring himself, and after having all those paintings and sculptures commissioned of himself, well, Reaver knew his own features _very_ well.

_Could it be? _he thought, looking closer at the photo. No...Reaver made sure all his _personal_ encounters were as safe as he could make them, seeing as he didn't want a prostitute or another woman showing up at his door, claiming to be carrying his child and demanding money, marriage, or something ridiculous like that.

It has happened before, though they usually ended in a lie and an early death for the woman who wasted his time. Not that he gave much of it, he usually just laughed and closed his door.

Yet, here it was, a child that had a rather strong resemblance to himself, staring back at him.

What was he possibly going to do about this? Hunt the child down? Have a father-daughter reunion?

Shoot her?

_I simply do not have the time, _Reaver thought, folding the photo, ready to toss it back in the pile with the others, yet...he wanted to dwell on this some more. Part of him wanted to study the photo more, pick out the smaller details, try and remember where he had seen the older woman.

He did not have time for such things...currently.

It was for his own curiosity.

_Reaver _did not care for children, possible blood relation or not.


	2. Part 2

**Here is the second part to this little fic here. It is shorter than the last chapter, but I felt that was a good place to end before we get into other things. I also wanted to get something up before I catch a plane in the morning, so there might not be much of me for a little bit. **

**If anybody is even reading this, that is. **

**Anyway, please feel free to review or whatever you like! I hope you enjoy it!**

* * *

**Something Familiar **

**Part 2**

* * *

A leather bound book sat open in her lap, she had originally intended to use it as a journal, but she found herself drawing in it more than anything. Of course, that is what they had started off as, _drawings_, single objects standing alone in the open space of the page. As she flipped through the pages, she started to notice that her drawings started to grow more detailed, backgrounds added, figures of people appearing, those too starting to gain detail.

There was a nagging thought in the back of her mind, telling her that she should have gone home first before sitting down under a tree and started drawing, but something had flashed in her mind's eye, a memory of some sort. The memory was foggy of shorts, down to the point where Esther wasn't too sure if it was a memory, though it was too familiar to her to be something she made up or dreamt.

Regardless, she decided to take a small detour towards the docks in Oakfield, sitting down at the base of a tree with a view of the shore, dock, and what she understood was the figure of The Spire in the distance, if the stories were true. The only thing she remembered about the memory was that it was at the docks, and there had been a dog standing at the end of them, still and seemed to be looking out at The Spire.

She wasn't sure how many hours passed, all she was focused on was the memory in her head, the docks in front of her, and the paper tucked under the "journal" with only a corner of it peeking out. She was mostly finished, doing the finishing touches of the dog. Slowly, she looked over the drawing and smiled. She was rather fond of it, dubbing it as one of her better drawings.

Suddenly, she realized that it wasn't late afternoon any longer, but rather late evening. Her eyes widening, she shut the book and stood, taking off down the paths leading towards her home. Esther wanted to laugh at herself, there was a sense of excitement about what she had in her possession, yet there was also some anxiety about the fact that her mother would most likely have her head for taking so long to get back home with the supplies she needed.

And, sure enough, Elizabeth wasn't pleased. She stood on the front steps of their small home, their _room_, rather. It was old, made of worn wood and had no walls or extra levels to it. It made it so that Esther's "bedroom" was also her mother's bedroom, the kitchen, and the dining room all that once. Still, it was home.

Elizabeth's face was easy to read, worry written all over her features, that soon morphed into relief when Esther came running up the pathway, then outright anger. She marched down the path towards her, Esther pausing in her run to hang her head as she approached.

"_Where_ have you been?" she snapped, gripping her shoulder hard, making Esther look up at her and try not to flinch at the pain that was causing, "when you said that you would be back by mid-day, I didn't expect you to be back with tonight's _dinner_ supplies well into the evening."

"I am _really_ sorry," Esther said quickly, "I got everything you asked for, I just got...distracted."

Elizabeth just let out a sigh, one that seemed to make the disapproval in her eyes even more unbearable. "You worried me," she said after a few beats, "though, I am relieved that you made it back in one piece. I guess we will be eating late, I just wish you would show some more responsibility."

Esther didn't really reply, just handing her mother the bag of supplies with an apologetic look on her face. Elizabeth took it from her and headed back towards the house, Esther following as she pulled out the small piece of paper, reading it over once again as her mother set out to start cooking.

"The food and spices weren't all I picked up from Bowerstone," Esther said during dinner, which was by candlelight, seeing as the sun had set by the time it was finished. Elizabeth glanced up at her, pausing in her eating.

"Oh?" she asked, the disapproving tone appearing once again in her voice, though Esther doubted that it ever disappeared. Esther gave her mother a slightly irritated look as she pulled out the paper from under her journal, passing it over to her mother.

"I didn't have to pay any money to get this, but..." she trailed off as her mother took it from her, leaning towards the candle some more to read it more clearly. The paper bared what looked like the Royal seal, making Elizabeth furrow her eyebrows. She quickly read through the message following it, a look of understanding crossing her face.

"They are looking for artists," Esther said, excitement leaking through her voice, "if I get the job, it would certainly put more money in our pockets, and open more doors for me."

"Esther..." Elizabeth started, pausing. She didn't want to stop on her child's aspirations, she never really did, as crazy as some of them were. She knew that Esther worked really hard on her drawings, it was something she took pride in but...this?

"Esther," she continued, "I know that you want to go somewhere with your drawings, your artwork, but this is royalty you are speaking of. They are looking for _artists_. While your drawings are good, some of them I could say look lifelike, I would hate for you to put your faith in this and be...turned away. You are still young, as well."

"I know," Esther said, nodding her head, "I gave this thought, and I have decided I wanted to _try_ this. While it would be...disheartening to not be picked, what will they do if I don't meet their standards? Execute me?"

"You are so reckless," Elizabeth muttered, placing the paper down on the table once again, "though, all you will be doing is drawing for them. Just remember, this isn't a citizen that is allowing you to draw them for a gold piece. This is the _Queen of Albion_."

"I'm well aware of that," Esther said with a nod, giving her mother a small smile, "does this mean that I have your permission?"

"You are growing into a young woman," her mother said, picking up her eating utensil and moved some of the food around on her plate, "I figure it about time that I start to let you make your own choices. Not that I won't let you do so without some warning, first."

* * *

While he had never been inside Bowerstone Castle, he hadn't even been inside it while it was still called Fairfax Castle, he didn't really expect it to be so...bright. Though, the castle was still somewhat dark with all the red, not that Reaver minded the colour, seeing as he was rather fond of it, it was lighter than what he had been expecting. Then again, he had not been expecting to enter the castle at all while Sparrow still resided in it.

They weren't exactly what he would call friends. He had tried to betray her at a total of three times, and she had dragged him into the whole Spire mess. Still, he had found it rather amusing when one of her messengers showed up at his manor, claiming that the Queen of Albion requested his presence at Bowerstone Castle. While the trip to Bowerstone was long and boring, he found that he preferred the new situation he found himself in to the monotonous one back in Bloodstone.

The citizens started to sound the same, the whores even starting to feel the same to him, it was getting dull and boring. Reaver didn't put up with dull and boring.

He strode into the castle like he owned it, only taking a few moments to take in the interior and partly listening to a thin man, the queen's butler, he assumed, prattle on about following him to the Throne Room. He followed the butler up the staircase leading up towards the Throne Room, his newly acquired cane in hand. It was certainly something he didn't need, though he found himself growing rather fond of it. He also found that it made a nice tool to swat at people with when they stood in his way or weren't doing something fast enough.

"Your Majesty," the butler announced, pausing slightly when Reaver walked past him and further into the room, a grin passing the deviant's face at the sight of the woman who stood in front of her throne, "Mister Reaver has arrived."

"Ah, yes, I can see that, Jasper," Sparrow said, Reaver raising his eyebrows slightly at hearing her speak so clearly, so loudly.

From what he could remember, Sparrow didn't talk much, which had sometimes gave him the feeling of talking to a wall. Aside from the thumbs up and other expressions, along with the short and quiet replies to things, she had remained rather silent.

"You may leave us, now, thank you," she continued, giving her butler a quick and rather friendly smile, though her eyes seemed to reflect some irritation.

_Ah, dear me, I wonder who could be causing our wonderful queen such discomfort, _Reaver thought to himself sarcastically, his smile growing slightly at the thought. Sparrow looked back at him, returning his smile with a politely forced one.

"Your Majesty," Reaver said, bowing deeply after a few beats, "I must say, I am rather surprised that you would call me to your _humble_ abode."

"Yes, well, I wouldn't be expecting any further visits," Sparrow said, her pleasant facade dropping slightly to allow some bitterness to slip though, "with that said, I want to discuss the reason I called you before me."

"Oh, straight to business? You have no time for me, after all the years we have been apart? I am _hurt_," Reaver said, bringing his free hand up to grip at his chest, and stomped his cane against the floor in an overly dramatic gesture, one that Sparrow found herself openly glaring at, "regardless, I am at your service."

"I need your expertise," Sparrow said, pausing, then quickly continued before his perverted mind could piece that together, "on art."

"On art?" Reaver asked, actually sounding somewhat disbelieving, "you called me all the way here for my opinion on a piece of artwork?"

"Well, no," Sparrow said, "there is no piece of artwork just yet, that is the issue. I have sent out word a month or so ago about seeking out someone to do my portraits and other future portraits, and I have recently discovered that a second opinion can make all the difference. When I thought of someone who had an eye for detail and artwork, you came to mind."

"Oh, did I? While I am honoured to have been the first on her majesty's mind, I do have to ask you a question. What is in it for me?"

"I owe you nothing, Reaver," Sparrow stated, all forced friendliness and politeness gone, leaving her sounding angry and stern, "after you betrayed me on more than one occasion, I still saved you from Lucien and didn't try you for treason once I was crowned ruler of Albion. That alone should be enough _payment_ for you to help me in this very minimal of a task."

"So, you wish for me to be your adviser of sorts in this little endeavour?"

"...Yes," Sparrow said, not sounding too thrilled about it, "once I have my artist, I will consider us even and will not call on you again."

"_Never again_? Oh, but you make such _wonderful_ company and have such a beautiful home!" Reaver exclaimed, his grin widening at the obvious irritation on her face. If he couldn't kill her for wasting his time, he could at least annoy her enough to the point where she wishes he would.

"My patience is very low tonight, Reaver," Sparrow warned, her Will lines starting to flare up, "I would not test it. So, are you willing to help me?"

"I would be honoured, my queen."

* * *

"You still have your heart set on this?" Elizabeth asked, crossing her arms as Esther smiled at her as she tucked her journal and drawing utensils inside a bag, along with a change of clothes. The young adult nodded her head, her eyes alight with excitement.

"I do," Esther said after a few moments, "I have a good feeling about this. You don't need to worry, the worst that could happen is that I am turned away and I return back home, saddened, but in one piece."

"Or it could completely destroy your love for your artwork," Elizabeth said softly, "you seem to love it so much, it would hurt me to see you lose that over this."

"I doubt that it will, though in the event that it does, you are my mother, I am sure you know that I will find something else," Esther said with a quick nod and a bright smile, "_don't worry_."

"Very well," Elizabeth said, pulling her daughter into a tight embrace, "I am proud of you, Esther, I hope that you will be able to impress the queen. If you do end up staying longer than expected, do write to me. I want to know what happens."

"You could always come with me," Esther suggested as her mother pulled away from the embrace, adjusting the bag that hung over her shoulder.

"Why?" Elizabeth asked, a playful smile crossing her face, "so I can hold your hand as you walk into the castle and remind you how important lighting is?"

"No," Esther said, giving her a playful glare in return, "It is just...you spend so much time in Oakfield, much more so inside the house. You'll be alone for a few days, and, as much as you worry about me, I worry about you also."

"I'll be fine," Elizabeth said, giving her daughter a loving smile, "I do have friends here, I am not a complete recluse."

"Alright," Esther said softly, a smile crossing her face, "I'll be back as soon as I am able. If not, I will try and write as often as I can."

"Good luck," Elizabeth said as Esther turned and started to walk towards the edge of town, a smile growing on her face.

_I do hope she does go somewhere with this, _she thought to herself, hoping that Esther will do good.

She also hoped that she will be committed to this if she is picked, that this isn't just another impulse to her. Though, seeing her drawings and all the work she put into readying herself for this, she had a feeling that this was something she was truly passionate about.

This could be a turning point for the both of them.


	3. Part 3

**Ah, this chapter. :/ I'm not..._too_ sure about it, yet I like it at the same time. Odd. Still, I had to put some more motion towards the main plot here and plant a bit of an idea in Esther's head somehow. I hope it wasn't too bad. The next chapter should be better, and, hopefully, easier to write. **

**I want to thank nemesis1807 for the encouraging words! Thank you! :) **

**As always, feedback is much welcomed and I hope to get at least one more chapter of this story and another one of mine before the first semester of classes start for me. **

**Alright, enough of me. Enjoy!**

* * *

**Something Familiar **

**Part Three**

* * *

"Ah, artists, such a pompous lot they are," Sparrow heard Reaver say as she watched yet another artist walk out of the Throne Room, that crestfallen expression on his face that she was starting to become somewhat used to as they worked their way through the many people who showed up to impress her.

While she was still doubtful about her decision to have Reaver help her with this, she could see why keeping him around still had use. After seeing many painted landscapes, portraits of herself, and paintings of various objects, Sparrow found that they all looked somewhat similar. Reaver was the one who seemed to see the flaws in the ones that she wasn't too sure about, that or he was just gripping at any excuse to rip into a few of the hopeful artists that would wonder into the room.

"They all come in, speaking like they have crafted a masterpiece," Reaver continued, pulling Sparrow back to what he was saying, her elbow resting against the arm rest of the throne, her hand tucked under her chin as she looked over lazily at him, a rather non-regal like pose, "yet there are only a handful of them that seem to meet _my_ approval. I daresay, you may have had some rather horrible portraits if I wasn't here to guide you along in the right direction, my dear queen."

"Well, I don't believe that I have met an artist yet who's arrogance surpasses your own, Reaver," Sparrow muttered, sitting up fully as Reaver gave her another grin.

"I should hope not, we _are_ talking about myself," he said, "I do believe I earned the right."

"Jasper, please, do send in the next artist before I lose my patience with my adviser here," Sparrow said, looking towards the door where the thin, brown-haired man quickly bowed and left the room to collect the next artist.

"Oh, I apologize, is my advice bothering you?" Reaver asked. While his tone _sounded_ apologetic, Sparrow would have to be an idiot to miss the obvious mockery.

"No, Reaver, everything you say before and after the advice is what is bothering me," Sparrow said with a small smile, Reaver simply huffing slightly at her comment and turned back towards the doors of the Throne Room, leaning on his cane, his grin still firmly in place.

Nothing seemed to bother Reaver all that much, Sparrow noticing that he usually took most of her little quips and some insults with a grin on his face and threw them back sometimes, though she could tell that he held his tongue in some cases. While Sparrow didn't necessarily enjoy being queen sometimes, she did enjoy the power the title brought from time to time. It was somewhat amusing to be higher up from Reaver, especially when she had once been running around and doing quests to get him to simply notice her enough so that she could recruit him into her band of Heroes, then there was the whole Shadow Court incident as well...

It was rather satisfying to watch him pick his words in front of her. Sometimes.

Sparrow straightened as the doors opened, Jasper leading in a rather young girl. She wasn't dressed as extravagantly as some of the other artists before her, a simple brown dress, her black hair pulled up tightly in a bun on her head, a few strands falling down to rest against the side of her face. Her gaze was actually anywhere but her and Reaver, out of fear or embarrassment, Sparrow couldn't tell. She took glances around the room, at the windows behind the throne, at Jasper, but ended up just looking down at her feet. She also carried a single piece of paper in her hands, she didn't carry a large canvas or framed painting with her.

Just a worn looking piece of paper.

_How interesting..._Sparrow thought to herself, though she was uncertain about the girl as well. She was pretty young, and didn't seem all the prepared. Though, aside from her shyness, she seemed to carry herself well. After a few moments, the girl looked up at her, a polite smile crossing her features as she bent down into a curtsy, bowing her head.

"Your Majesty," she greeted quickly, rising up once again and held her gaze for a few moments, her eyes flickering over to Reaver for a few moments before she continued.

"My name is Esther, I have come to show you some of my artwork."

Sparrow nodded her head in greeting, taking a glance over at Reaver, who would have usually been insisting that she show him the artwork by now, only to find that he actually seemed to be studying the girl rather intently. Though, he quickly seemed to move on and walked towards her, extending his hand to take the paper from her.

Esther quickly gave it to him, stepping back and folded her hands behind her back. Sparrow waited for her to ramble on about her piece, explaining what inspired it or how she made it, but she remained silent.

"Ah, I see it is yet another mundane landscape," Reaver said, looking up from the picture, "one you haven't bothered to paint, either."

He seemed patronizing, as per usual with every piece that he looked at that day. Sparrow expected Esther to look away from him, to look sad or angry, but she actually lifted her head up slightly and narrowed her eyes as if in thought.

"I do see your point," she said after a few moments, "I wish I could have painted it as well, though after seeing that buying the simple set that I used to draw that landscape left me eating stale and lowly priced food for a week, I am almost afraid to see where a set of paints would leave my mother and I."

"And you believe this to be of royal calibre?"

"Yes, because I have an eye for detail," Esther said, pausing for a few moments to glance towards Sparrow, "that...drawing is apparently one of my memories, something my mother had to confirm because I was so young when I witnessed it that I couldn't remember it all."

"I wish to see it," Sparrow said, extending her hand towards Reaver, who looked back at her and walked towards the throne, giving her Esther's drawing. She took a few moments to study it, then paused. She could easily recognize the docks, as well as the figure of the Spire in the distance, though the dog, _her _dog, is what gave her pause.

...Yes, it was her dog

Esther had managed to capture her dog's longing in the drawing, so much so that it almost seemed fitting that there was no colour to it. Sparrow looked up from the paper in her hands to look at Esther, who seemed to be shifting from foot to foot, hands still folded behind her back. Some of her black hair fell into her face, her blue eyes staring at her expectantly.

Sparrow gave her a small smile, "thank you for your piece, Esther. Please, do stay in Bowerstone if you are able."

"Of course, thank you, Your Majesty," Esther said quickly, a grin fighting its way onto her face as she gave one last quick bow and left the room. She was barely out of the room when Reaver turned to look over at Sparrow with a raised eyebrow.

"You are considering that..._drawing?_" he asked, Sparrow looking back down at Esther's piece once again, taking in a few more of the details of the drawing.

She smiled softly at the thought of her earliest companion after Rose's death, she found herself wondering what it would have been like to have her dog sitting beside her throne, to have Rose walking the halls of Bowerstone Castle. She did have the choice to make that all a reality, once.

As much as she missed them, she didn't regret the choice she made. Her sister's death was finally avenged, and she had new things to focus on now. Finding a painter wasn't that much of a pressing matter, Sparrow didn't wish to spend too much time on it, but she found herself liking the distraction. Even if it was for a few days or so.

"I see potential," Sparrow said after a few moments, "while she may seem humble, she has confidence in her work. I wouldn't mind seeing some more."

"All I see is a little girl who knows how to use a pencil, she is most likely looking for something boast about to her simple-minded ilk."

"Yet, you held your tongue."

"Yes, well, it had been a long day, and as hard as it may be to believe, I do get tired," Reaver said, brushing off her comment in a way that made Sparrow wonder what was going through his head.

* * *

_Dearest Mother, _

_I have much to tell you! Don't fret, most of it is good. _

_As I write this, it has been two days since I first set foot inside Bowerstone Castle. It is as beautiful inside as it is outside, and I think I carried myself very well, though I regret becoming a little miffed in my reply when her associate started to talk down to me. He had reason to, seeing as I didn't paint and I think that it one of the required things that I needed to have. Still, I didn't like the way he talked to me, and the way he looked at me. _

_There was something...familiar about him. Then again, he was Reaver. Perhaps I was just intimidated by him? _

_Still, regardless, I believed that my hard work has payed off. I have been commissioned to make a portrait of Queen Sparrow, it is a chance for me to work with paints and to prove that I am capable to do so. Though, I don't believe I am the only one who has gotten this opportunity, but I believe that it is a very good sign that I have made it this far. _

_The bad news is that, with this development, it means that I won't be coming back to Oakfield for another couple days, at least. Though, once this is finished, I will come back home to see you. _

_...I believe that is all I wish to share. You wanted to know what has been happening, and now you do. I hope that you aren't too worried about me. _

_I love you._

_Esther_

* * *

It was that _child_ again.

Though, he couldn't really call her a child. While she wasn't a fully grown woman, she was far from the thin little girl in the photo. He had known it from the moment she walked into the Throne Room, and he wanted her gone from the moment her gaze met his own. Still, as Sparrow started to look into seeing more of her work, inviting her back to the castle to see if she could put together a portrait, along with four other artists, he found himself growing more interested in her. Reaver was growing steadily bored with this, waiting around for hours every day, watching people put together half-decent portraits. Since he couldn't deal with the artists the way he usually dealt with them when they didn't produce the results he wanted, which was shooting them and calling upon the next one, he was forced to wait until Sparrow picked one.

At least he wasn't the one posing.

His cane tapped against the ground as he walked towards the gardens of the castle, half of them off limits due to the expanding of the castle. Still, it was much more stimulating than sitting in that stuffy room with an equally unbearable Sparrow. That is, until he spotted young Esther sitting on a bench, reading over something in her hands with a slight frown on her face.

Even with his slight interest, Reaver honestly wanted nothing to do with her, just like every overly dressed and talkative artist that sat before Sparrow. Still, he was certain that she was the child from the photo that he had spent maybe a half a day of his attention on, there could be some amusement brought out of the situation.

He was unbearably bored, anyhow.

"Ah, my dear Esther!" he exclaimed, his smile growing at just how much the youth flinched at the sound of his voice, watching as Esther turned her head to look at him with startled and slightly alarmed eyes, "I was starting to believe that I wouldn't be seeing your face today. Shouldn't you be inside with the rest of your ilk?"

"My ilk?" Esther said slowly, raising an eyebrow.

"People of your sort," Reaver said, Esther frowning slightly at the condescending look he sent her.

"I know what ilk means," Esther stated, clearing her throat a little as she folded the letter in her hands, "I am just taking a few moments to collect myself and deal with some personal matters. Do you need anything, Mister Reaver?"

"Can I not make simple conversation?"

Esther's mouth twitched upwards slightly, standing from the bench and straightened out the front of her dress, "you can do whatever you wish, Mister Reaver. I should be getting back, I don't want the queen to think that I refused her offer."

"There is another person before you, and I do believe that they seem to be more interested in conversation with our dear queen than doing their job. I wouldn't fret about missing your turn," Reaver said, gesturing towards the bench, "do sit."

"What do you _need_, Mister Reaver?" Esther asked, her voice surprisingly sharp, "I am sure there are plenty of more interesting people to spend your time on. I would like it if you got to the point."

"_My_," Reaver said, his voice disapproving, yet the expression on his face was more amused than anything, "from the way you carried yourself a few days ago, I thought you would have much more manners than this."

Esther looked away from him, clearing her throat, "You're right, I apologize. Let me rephrase: I would be _delighted_ to talk with you, Mister Reaver. What is it you wanted to talk to me about?"

"You had mentioned that you lived with your mother," Reaver said, "and, from what you had said, it seems that you are rather poor. Where do you live, then?"

"Oakfield," Esther said simply, "my mother and I do well for ourselves, also. I thought that I would take this opportunity to make us some more money, regardless."

"You claim to be well off, yet you can't buy yourself a set of paints."

Esther smiled, though it was bitter, "you are still hung up on that, then? As I said, we do well for ourselves, I didn't say we were well off."

"What about your father, then?"

"I don't have one," Esther said, sounding like she had recited the phrase many times before, her expression indifferent and looked like she wanted nothing more than to walk away from him.

"Everybody has a father," Reaver said, brushing off her answer, leaning forward on his cane slightly with a look in his eyes that made Esther even more uncomfortable. He looked like he knew something about herself that she didn't.

"I'm aware," Esther said stiffly, "though, I have never met my own. I find it easier to think that I simply don't have one. Why are you so interested in this? I doubt that my upbringing will effect my ability to run pencil across paper."

"You have stated that you are poor, therefore you may not have the experience in painting," Reaver said, "I only wish to know more about you, seeing as I am the queen's adviser in this little project."

"Well, now you know," Esther said, crossing her arms, a small smile crossing her face, "are you hoping to make a little donation?"

"Ah, but I believe I have already left quite the little _donation_ on your family already," Reaver said, turning around to head back into the castle, "I would hurry along now, you wouldn't want to make a bad impression, would you? Tatty-Bye!"

He raised his hand in a half-hearted goodbye, leaving Esther to watch him go with a confused expression on her face. After a few moments, she simply shook her head and started to walk back into the castle, trying to put Reaver's words out of her head, but they seemed to be circling, picking away at her focus on the task at hand.

Maybe her mother and Reaver had met before already? That was the only thing she could come up with. Still, how would he know her mother if he had never met her before?

_What a frustrating man,_ Esther thought to herself, _I really hope that he won't be present for much longer. _


End file.
